Enchanter (Book 7) (36 page)

I stared at her.  “So how often did you exercise this discretion?”

“Not often,” she giggled.  “Oh, I flirted, if it could get me a better deal on our cheese at market.  And there were a few proper suitors after the mourning period was over, and I entertained them as warmly as I could – but there wasn’t much interest, then.”

“Then my beautiful eyes and enchanting charm came along . . .” I said, stretching out on the bed. 

“I told you, I was excited by the battle on the road,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “I was grateful for your intervention and your healing of Sagal . . . but I was also worried at the cost.  It seemed a natural conclusion to the day.”

“If a little opportunistic,” I teased.  So Briga had been correct.  And my wife had been honest with me.

Don’t ask me why that was suddenly important.  I’ll admit to feeling a little crestfallen, hearing that she hadn’t been propelled toward me by Fate or True Love or something equally propitious, but at least she hadn’t tried to deny her motivations.  Somehow that made me feel better.

When I asked Pentandra (who else?) about this later, when we were exchanging gripes about our marriages, mind-to-mind, she patiently tried to explain to me that men often had unrealistic ideas about their wives because men tended to love idealistically, and assume that women love the same way.  Women, on the other hand, assume that men love as opportunistically as they do, if they do not study the matter, and that can lead to jealousy and suspicion.  Which was more or less exactly what Briga had told me.

A husband’s ideal view of his wife is a dangerous trap, she explained.  If it is deflated too abruptly, he loses respect for her and becomes bitter and cynical about his wife.  She is, after all, just a woman, like all women.  His willingness to expect some unreachable ideal from her almost always gets disappointed, and that leads to regrets and remorse, among other problems.

I don’t think I had an unreachable ideal for Alya,
I pointed out
.  I was pretty realistic about her.

She was a widow,
she pointed out. 
She had already had Trygg’s Rites once, and that took the pressure off, thankfully.  Knowing you, that made her more appealing, I think.  I’m not certain you were up for the responsibility of a virgin bride.  But Min, she stressed, that’s beside the point.  Sure, you had more realistic ideals for your wife when you married her, but they were still ideals.  And you expected her to have similar ideals.  When you found out that her motivations were . . . less pure, it wounded your pride.

I just figured she loved me,
I groused,
not that she was trying to get out of a fee for service!

And that wounded your pride,
she repeated. 
You thought that she was overcome by your heroism and professionalism, indicating a deeper character that she could not help but find so admirable that her skirts just flew up on own accord out of respect for your powerful masculinity, she chided.  Min, I know what I’m talking about, here.  You’ve discovered that your wife acted like any other woman might have, and you’re starting to think that perhaps she isn’t as special as you once thought.  I understand. 

You make me sound so petty . . .

No, you’re just a man, like any other.  What you need to come to terms with isn’t Alya’s failure to live up to your unrealistic ideals – well, that, too – but understand that, in her opportunistic pursuit of love, she has achieved her goals: a safe place for her family; healthy, beautiful children; and a devoted, adoring husband who just happens to be master of magic in the kingdom.  Position, alliance, security, and she gets laid a lot more than most Riverlord wives.  She loves opportunistically: she found an ideal opportunity, and she’s willing to do just about anything to protect it.

But what about . . . love?
I asked, feeling like a miserable twelve-year-old learning about the facts of life for the first time.

Love is what grows after the eagerness of infatuation fades, if you are very, very lucky
, she offered, thoughtfully, after a moment’s pause. 
Every woman’s idea of Happily Ever After is different, of course, but they almost all include a lasting passionate love.  That is, indeed, an ideal, but that ideal is reached only by carefully and cautiously exploiting opportunities to ally ourselves with a man whose character and abilities can provide that.  And in the course of that exercise, a woman can find herself justifying nearly any act or motive.  A lot like how the military class justifies their conquests and endless private wars.

Are you saying that Alya doesn’t really love me?  That she just found me an ideal . . . conquest?

Oh, you poor boy!
Pentandra said, sorrowfully. 
You think your wife doesn’t really love you . . . when by all accounts your marriage is the envy of the Riverlands. 
Of course
she loves you, you dolt!  She loves you as deeply and passionately as any woman has loved a man.  But despite the reams of epic poetry to the contrary, ‘love at first sight’ is infatuation that rarely works out.  Real love only grows over time, as your mate proves their worth to your life and makes your happiness part of their concern.  Does that sound like any baroness we know?

And the sting of my wounded pride?
I asked, still feeling a bit let down by the discussion.

You’ll live, if you don’t let it get infected,
she chuckled. 
You married a real woman, Min.  She’s got faults and flaws and you’ll see more and more of them over the years.  Don’t be an idiot and betray the genuine love she has cultivated for you, her husband and the father of her children, over the imagined slight to your ego, that she didn’t fall madly in love with you the first time she laid eyes on you.  I’ll tell you what Ishi told me, recently.

What was that?

You’ve got a great thing going . . . try not to screw it up.

*

*

The next morning I awoke to singing birds in the forest, and for a brief instant I thought I was back on the Wilderlands march.  But then Alya rolled over and sprawled on my chest in her sleep, and I recalled our very pleasant evening together.  Opportunistic or not, Pentandra was correct: I had a great thing going, and I very badly did not want to screw it up.

My recent troubles had cast a shadow of doubt on my relationship, and for that I blamed both Isily and Ishi – but not Alya.  She had earned my respect and admiration and had been worthy of my love from the start, even if her own motives weren’t as pure.  Understanding a bit better about love, now, I could appreciate just how much she must have adored me to put up with my peculiarities.

I woke her up and we made slow, sweet love that morning, as the manor bustled around us.  With no way anyone could disturb us, nor any chance we’d be overheard, we indulged ourselves in ways that we probably would have thought better of, at home.  But the novel surroundings and the distance from home seemed to possess her, and she responded to my advances with eagerness and inventiveness. 

Yes, it was good to be married to such a good wife.

Afterwards we packed up, said our good-byes to our subjects, and promised more visits from the baronial capital in the future.  As a parting gesture, I cut the minuscule money payment of tribute the domain was required to pay me in half, and commuted the rest to payments in magecut lumber and service: from now on, I required at least two Ameli minstrels to attend my court in Sevendor at all time, in three-month rotations, to be liveried at my board. 

That was met with gasps of approval – no one had ever recognized the Ameli’s musical talent in such a way, before, as an actual asset.  And the reduction in money payment of their tribute meant the manor could devote far more of its scant revenues to its own maintenance.

“That was fun,” Alya mused, as the carriage began its descent down the hill.  “It was good to get away from home, especially in the winter.  Especially with you,” she added, fondly.

“It was,” I agreed.  “And securing the allegiances of six new domains certainly mixed a little business with pleasure.  Perhaps we can come back in spring – I hear the temple complex looks magical, when the apple blossoms are in full bloom.  They have a minor festival at the time.  Wives who want to conceive visit and make their pleas to Trygg for babies.”

“Was that a hint?” she asked, suspiciously.

I was startled.  “What?  No!   I mean, I didn’t think that was a problem for you,” I said my mind suddenly awhirl. 

“It isn’t,” she agreed.  “Not at all, apparently.  I’ve been looking for the right time to tell you this, but . . . you remember that night you finally took me down to the Snowflake?  And then you . . . too me, down in front of the Snowflake?”

“And we got interrupted by Onranion?” I chuckled, recalling the embarrassing moment.

“We got interrupted by that stupid Alka . . . the
second
time.  The first time was sufficient.  I confirme it with the nuns.  I’m pregnant again.”

“What?” my mouth said, as my eyes got wide.  “Alya, that’s wonderful news!”  I embraced her instantly, as the implications from the declaration sunk into my poor, tiny mind. 

“I was worried you weren’t ready for another one,” she confessed, tearfully, after we finally parted.  “You’ve been so distant, lately, that I thought that perhaps you were growing weary of the responsibilities of family life . . . and I didn’t want you to feel compelled to . . . to . . .”

“Its fine, I’m happy, I promise!” I assured her.  “Another child is always a blessing from Trygg.”

“We’ve just got such a nice little family already, I didn’t want to spoil that with me looking like a melon for the summer,” she confided.    “Minalyan is already jealous of Amina’s nursing, the little scamp, and Min, with three of them . . . they’ll
outnumber
us!” she said, her eyes betraying more terror at the thought than I think she had intended. 

“We’ll hire more servants,” I promised.  “We’ll get by.”

She stared at me, as she wiped her tears away with a kerchief.  “Are you really, truly happy about this?” she demanded.

“I’ve never been happier,” I assured.  “Fatherhood agrees with me, and you do make the absolute most adorable babies in the barony.  We have a big table, Alya,” I reminded.  “We have plenty of room for one more.  Or ten more,’ I added.

She glared at me.  “I am not a brood sow,” she said, darkly, her mood shifting like a spell.  “With Trygg’s blessing I have had two healthy babies, and I might have more.  But
ten?
”

“That’s not uncommon,” I pointed out, knowing I’d irritated her . . . and perversely enjoying her discomfort.  “I am more than up to the task of siring such a profound dynasty.”

“My lord husband, my baron . . .
have you lost your damned mind?”

I shut up.  Proving that wisdom does occasionally manifest with age and experience.

Chapter Seventeen

Sevendor Grows

“This, Minalan, is what I have been working on,” Magelord Olmeg revealed in his deep and sonorous voice as he threw back the cloth covering his creations and revealed them to the magelight that illuminated his dark manor house. 

Lying on the pad of raw wool were six small spheres, each no larger than fifty millimeters, and each a bright green, the color of newly-furled leaves in the spring.  “These are the result of my studies this winter.  With the help of the baculus, and access to snowclay and the Everfire, I was able to finally complete the construction of these simple enchantments,” he said, proudly.

“What do they do?” I asked, curious.  This was about as close to “unrestrained enthusiasm” the tall, quiet green mage ever displayed. 

“They magically optimize the growth rate of plants in their sphere of influence,” he announced, proudly.  He picked one of the bright green spheres and handed it me.  It was light – clearly hollow – and hummed.

“A pleasant hum,” I nodded.  “I suppose that means it’s happy about being a sphere.”

“The hum is a sonic wave at roughly 3000 cycles per second,” he informed me.  “It optimizes the growth rate.  There’s a number of secondary enchantments to discourage pests.  Another regulates soil water retention, magically holding enough water in the soil to optimize uptake.  Another magically aerates the soil and ensures sufficient oxygen to root systems to keep them properly respirated.  Another regulates beneficial rhybosomes to increase the photosynthetic efficiency,” he said, proudly.  “All my skill as a green mage, distilled into this effortless enchantment,” he said, his deep voice awash in wonder.

“Are they all the same?” I asked, curious.

“Goodness, no!  The smaller ones are designed for vegetables and shrubs, the medium size ones are for grain crops, and the largest ones are designed for arboreal settings.  I can customize them even further, if I know the particular crop.  I’ve crafted four of them just to succor those redwood seedlings I’ve started – if things go well, they should be leaping up out of the ground by autumn.”

“Have you tested them?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.  “Even green magic must await the change of seasons.  But I am certain of their powers.  I plan on using them all across the domain.”